


as we fight the sight of daybreak

by foxgloved



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Kissing, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, vague references to past camille/magnus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxgloved/pseuds/foxgloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Camille is sprawled across a leather sofa, running her nail along the fraying spine of some trashy romance novel as she sips from a glass of tangy five-year-old wine, when Dorothea Rollins materializes in her living room.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	as we fight the sight of daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> title - 'fire escape' by love, robot. (which is really pretty and also the singer is pvris' lead singer's girlfriend)
> 
> ?????? i was inspired by the line '[dot] was my favorite customer' in the new ep and, what can i say, i tend to trip and write 800 words when i get _inspired_. yikes. so have 800 words of camille being camille and also kissing. whoops.

Camille is sprawled across a leather sofa, running her nail along the fraying spine of some trashy romance novel as she sips from a glass of tangy five-year-old wine, when Dorothea Rollins materializes in her living room.

She tilts her chin up, smiling as Dot peels off her coat and dumps it on the floor, dense heels clicking against the wood floors as she makes her way across the room. Dot's hands twitch on her hips, bracelets dangling around her wrists and glinting beneath the light of the chandelier. Her hair's tucked back into a thin braid, a flower hairpin bright against her dark locks. She's beautiful in a shimmering purple dress that accents her curves just right, and Camille smiles into the rim of her glass.

“Stop leering at me,” Dot says, folding her arms. Her face is bare of makeup, unsurprisingly — no matter how much Camille's tried to convert her to lipstick, she just won't buy it. “I'm not — I don't even have anything to sell. I don't know why I'm here.”

Camille rolls her eyes. “Darling,” she drawls, setting down her book but not her wine, “of course you know why you're here.” She adjusts herself into a sitting position, one leg draped across the other in her pale bathrobe. “It's because you can't resist me. And I don't blame you, really. Who would?”

Dot huffs out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Beneath that facade, I don't think you're really so full of yourself.” She purses her lips, drumming her fingers along the sides of her arms. “I mean — with this much in your house, and your looks, you should be, but I doubt it's like that through and through.”

“What,” says Camille, “did you major in psychology at some mundane university?” Dot's mouth twists, as she stands still in the room: more like a statue than an actual breathing person. It's not like Camille wouldn't like to display her in an art museum — she's beautiful enough, she'd fit right in with all the other Michelangelos — but she's getting a bit fed up, so she pats the couch beside her. “Come here, darling. It's cold out tonight, you know? Why don't you come closer? Warm me up.”

She runs her nails along her thighs as she feeds Dot the words practically with a spoon, sugary sweet around her honeyed tongue. She lowers her glass to the table beside her, arching her eyebrows in welcoming as Dot takes those last few steps and sits down. And — just sits, doesn't even glance over at Camille.

“Dot, sweetheart,” Camille says. She pauses to drape her arm around Dot, aware of how tense she is — and she pulls back for a moment. “If you don't want me, go ahead and step back through your damn portal. I'm sure this night wouldn't go very well — or be very fun — for you if that's the case, huh?” She's not tipsy — she hasn't had a sip of real blood since yesterday, though, so. (She could ask Raphael, but he's been awfully prickly lately.) “Or maybe there's someone waiting for you at home. You care about that _Jocelyn Fairchild_ , don't you?”

Dot's eyes widen, and she jerks away; holds her shaking palms out like a barrier between them. “It's not that I don't want you,” she starts, and Camille's smile widens, teeth peaking over the edge of her lips. “I don't — Jocelyn and I aren't like that. But everyone's heard the rumors about you, Camille Belcourt. You're a heartbreaker.”

“And you,” Camille says, leaning in closer, “are my favorite customer.”

Dot's shoulders go slack at the praise. Camille knows this game: a few sweet words and they're dizzy for you. Warlocks are easy to please — hell, almost as easy as mundanes. Or maybe, Camille thinks in wonder, it's just certain ones.

“I'm going to regret this,” Dot murmurs, breath fanning across Camille's lips. “But...”

Her wrists curl upwards around Camille's neck, bracelets cool against her skin, and Camille smiles and closes the last inch between them. Dot tastes like musk and night air, her lips chapped and open and warm against Camille's — Camille draws her in closer, pinches her nails in where she knows is a pressure point. Dot hisses into her mouth, tightening her grip around her neck.

Camille laughs; and in a blink of Dot's (or what would be one if her eyes were open), she's got Dot's wrists pinned behind her own back, a thigh slotted between hers. “Darling,” she simpers, just the right bit of seductive to make Dot shudder, “you don't want to try that.”

“Hm,” Dot says, and she laughs, tilting her head back. Camille tips hers to the side, watching as Dot's chest rises and falls. “Guess you really are a heartbreaker.”

“You haven't seen anything yet,” Camille says, and leans down again.

**Author's Note:**

> [save me](http://feministcatwoman.tumblr.com)


End file.
